It's A Wonderful Life
by indie
Summary: A series of vignettes set post "Born To Run" that center on John Connor's new life.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: It's a Wonderful Life**

**CHARACTERS:** John Connor, Derek Reese

**WARNINGS:** Spoilers for all of season 2.

**TIMELINE:** post Judgment Day

**NOTES**: This is the first of what will be a series of vignettes set post "Born to Run"

**SUMMARY:** _There is something about this kid_.

* * *

Derek looks down at the kid, John, where he's cleaning and loading the rifles on the bunker's floor. "Forget one?" Derek prods, tapping the toe of his boot against the butt of the rifle he still holds.

John looks up at Derek, then at Derek's rifle and shakes his head. "No." He continues cleaning with an efficiency born of familiarity.

Derek watches John. Derek has no idea how the kid knew his name the first time they met, has no idea why the kid thought that he should know him. Since that first exchange, John is a lot more cautious. A lot more wary. Careful in a way that seems second nature to him.

But Derek sees how John watches him. And Kyle. And Allison. It isn't that the kid is obvious about it. He isn't. John watches everything, the way everyone who lived through J-Day watches everything. Like his life depends on it. Because it does. But even taking that into account, John still watches him and Kyle and Allison a little too closely.

The rest of the crew probably would have given John a hard time, but the kid figured out very quickly how to earn his keep. He has a familiarity with weapons that Derek's never seen outside of a trained, seasoned soldier. John understands instinctively how a combat unit should function and he slid seamlessly into their crew. John's better with weapons – any weapons – than half the soldiers in the bunker. He knows how to keep them maintained, like he truly understands that it means the difference between dying in battle and living to fight another day.

"You too good to clean mine?" Derek baits. He knows that's not the case. John is standoffish, but not disrespectful. Derek has no reason to think the kid has a grudge.

John looks up at him with a withering expression, like he's just barely humoring Derek. "No," he says flatly. "I'm not too good. I just don't like wasting my time."

Derek narrows his eyes at the kid. They've exchanged a couple dozen words in the last few weeks and John's irritation speaks to a familiarity that simply does not exist between them. "Wasting your time?" Derek prods again, his voice taking on a harder edge.

This time John doesn't bother to look up, engrossed in his task. "If I do, you'll just do it over," he says. He meets Derek's eyes. "You won't fire a weapon you didn't set."

Derek stares down at John. It's true. Completely true.

John finally looks away again, intent on his task.

Slowly, Derek sinks down onto his haunches, crouching next to John, invading his personal space. John stops what he's doing, but his eyes are fixed straight ahead, away from Derek. His jaw is tightly clenched.

Derek stares at John's profile. There is something about the kid. Something that pulls at Derek's consciousness, a familiarity that makes absolutely no sense. "Where'd you learn guns?"

John shrugs. "Here and there."

There is something about this kid. "Your old man?"

John flinches and Derek is certain it's the first spontaneous reaction John has allowed since the day they found him. John shakes his head. "My mom."

Derek nods in approval and edges back. "She run with a crew?"

John turns and looks at him, his expression unreadable. "She believed in always being prepared."

"Ex-military?"

A hard, humorless smile curves John's lips. "She was familiar with law enforcement."

Derek can't help but smile. Well, that explains a few things. Derek rises to his feet and watches John for a few more moments. "You do her proud."

Derek never sees the tears in the kid's eyes.

[ end section ]


	2. Know Thy Self, Know Thy Enemy

TITLE: Know Thy Self, Know Thy Enemy

CHARACTERS: John Connor, Derek Reese, Kyle Reese

TIMELINE: post Judgment Day

* * *

Derek walks into the section of tunnel where the young soldiers are inventorying munitions. He's distracted, off-kilter. "Akers. Mendoza. With me. Now."

He turns on his heel, but pauses at the threshold. He glances over his shoulder. "You too, Connor."

* * *

Derek eases up to the edge of the ridge, peering over with the binoculars. It's dusk. He hates this time of day. Too fucking hard to make out shapes in the fading light, too many shadows. They're on top of a bluff which is enough of a problem all by itself. But in this case, the risk is worth it. They have a view of the entire valley spread out before them. It's a patchwork of destruction, several square miles of wanton devastation, the morbid remnants of what was once several blocks of densely developed metropolitan Los Angeles. Now it's nothing but concrete rubble, twisted rebar and gaping craters.

At Derek's right, Connor crawls to the edge, peering over, careful to use as much of the meager cover as possible.

"What're we looking for?" the kid finally asks.

"My brother." The reply is flat. Derek's mind is elsewhere as he fruitlessly scans the uneven terrain for any trace of Kyle.

"What happened?"

Derek lowers the binoculars and glances over at John. Mendoza holds out his hand and Derek reluctantly hands over the binoculars. Mendoza is the eagle eye of the group. If anyone can spot Kyle in this mess, it's him.

Derek crawls back from the edge and John follows. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Derek takes shelter next to the burnt out husk of what used to be a tank. "Got a call about an hour ago," Derek says without looking at John. "Kyle and Wang were on their way back from a supply run. Hit an old mine. Totaled the Jeep. Took out Wang."

"Is Kyle okay?" John asks quickly.

Derek finally looks at the kid, somewhat shocked at the depth of concern on his young features. He presses his lips together. "He was okay. His rifle was damaged. Unreliable. Said he torqued his ankle pretty badly. We need to find him."

"_Boss_."

Derek is moving before Mendoza is done speaking and he wordlessly crawls to the edge and takes the binoculars again. He swears.

"What?" John demands.

"Metal." Derek doesn't even bother turning around as he says it.

John crawls to the edge again and sees the machine. There's no doubt it's a cyborg. Even at the distance of several hundred yards, John can see that one arm has been stripped of flesh, the coltan alloy glinting in the fading light.

"What the hell is it doing?" Mendoza asks.

"Fuck if I know," Derek counters.

John holds out his hand for the binoculars and Derek pauses a moment before handing them over. Pressing the binoculars to his eyes, John has a much better view of the cyborg. "Recon," he says.

"How the hell would you know?" Akers asks from his position near the tank shell.

John gives him a hard look, handing the binoculars back to Mendoza. "What the hell else would it be doing out here?" he asks. "There's nothing of strategic importance here, no resources, nothing. It's just looking."

"Ah, _fuck_," Mendoza curses. "I found Kyle."

They all peer over the edge and despite the fading light, they can see the scene clearly. Kyle, half-hobbled, carefully making his way across the terrain about a hundred yards down the bluff from them. He can't see the cyborg yet. The cyborg doesn't have line of sight on him either, but it obviously senses something and heads to intercept. Its path toward Kyle takes it behind a field of concrete rubble that provides absolute cover from their vantage point on top of the bluff.

"Shit," Akers curses.

"Kyle!" Derek yells.

Kyle's head whips toward Derek, but just as quickly whips back toward the cyborg as he finally sees his pursuer.

John reacts without thinking, vaulting over the edge of the ridge. He can feel Derek grasp at the back of his jacket, but he slips away, bounding down the steep incline toward Kyle bellowing, "No!"

Kyle has his malfunctioning rifle in his hand, but he doesn't raise it, too shocked at the sight of John bounding toward him.

"No!" John bellows again, shaking his head and swinging his arms in front of himself. "NO!"

Kyle is still staring at him, wide-eyed as John smashes into him, sending them both crashing to the ground, the rifle skidding uselessly out of reach down the incline.

The cyborg is on them and they both roll over, looking up at the machine. John is half draped over Kyle, pinning him down as he holds his hand up in front of himself. The machine just stares down at them.

Out of the corner of his eye, John can see Kyle glance toward the rifle. "Don't even think about it," John hisses, never taking his eyes off the machine.

Kyle finally gives up, holding his hands up.

The metal cants its head to the side and then straightens it again. And proceeds on its way.

John and Kyle are still breathing hard, watching the machine as it methodically makes its way to the south.

After several more moments, John finally takes a deep breath and moves away from Kyle, pushing himself into a sitting position. Derek, Akers and Mendoza carefully pick their way down the incline and Kyle just stares at John, wide-eyed.

Derek skitters to a stop in front of the pair and looks down at both of them in turn. "What. The. Fuck."

Akers and Mendoza pull up short behind Derek and all of them stare at John, looking at him like they're reassessing John's humanity.

John lets out a shaky breath and straightens his flak jacket. "I told you," he says, carefully enunciating the words, trying not to let on how terrified he was. "The machine was doing recon. It wasn't clearing out a resistance stronghold or deliberately hunting Kyle. It was just looking."

Derek, Kyle, Akers and Mendoza continue to stare at him with the same wary expressions.

"They aren't mindless killers," John continues. "They're programmed with specific missions. If you aren't their target and you aren't a threat to them, they'll leave you alone."

Derek finally shakes his head in an expression John can't read. But as Derek reaches down to offer the boy a hand up, John gladly takes it. Akers and Mendoza help Kyle to his feet. Kyle is bruised and battered, but obviously not critically injured.

Derek glances at his brother thoughtfully for a moment, like he's saying a silent prayer. And then he looks back to John, his eyes narrowing. "Not mindless killers," he snorts derisively. "Your mom teach you that too?'

A hysterical bark of laughter escapes John's lips before he can stop it and he shakes his head vehemently. "No. Definitely not," he says firmly. "My mom hated the machines. She taught me that with enough thermite, you can make one of them completely disappear."

The answer seems to appease Derek and his posture relaxes.

For quite a while the focus is diverted from John as the group rigs together a splint for Kyle's leg and laboriously manages to get him up the incline and into the remnants of an old Dodge pickup. Akers takes the wheel as Mendoza mans the machine gun bolted to the roof. Kyle sits in the bed of the truck with his back against the back of the cab, wounded leg stretched out in front of him. Derek sits on Kyle's right, rifle in hand as he scans the terrain. John hops in on Kyle's left and the truck immediately starts to move.

John knows that Akers is picking his way along the bombed out roads as carefully as possible, but Kyle and his swollen ankle are still being jostled around pretty badly.

"Thanks for that back there," Kyle says.

John's lips curve into a tight smile and he momentarily ducks his head.

"Well, not for the shoulder to the sternum," Kyle amends, rubbing his chest, "but that was some quick thinking."

John nods, embarrassed.

Kyle's teeth are gritted together and even in the near dark, John can tell he's pale. He swallows thickly and turns to face John again. "Thermite," he muses. "Can't say I've ever gotten close enough to try that on one of those metal motherfuckers. Your mom sounds like a hell of a woman."

"She is," John agrees. He stops short. "_Was_," he amends, his throat tightening painfully.

"What was her name?" Kyle asks.

"Sarah," John says softly, meeting Kyle's gaze. "Sarah Connor."

Kyle looks at John and just for a moment, John thinks there might be a spark of recognition, but it's gone too quickly, replaced by a quick intake of breath as the truck lumbers over a fallen telephone pole.

"So she hated the machines," Kyle says, obviously fighting for focus. "But you don't?" He looks at John speculatively. Derek glances over, his expression far more suspicious than his brother's.

John shrugs. "Hate is counterproductive," he says. "It blinds you to their true nature."

"Their nature is to kill," Derek snaps.

"So is ours," John counters. "But it's not all we are, any more than it's all they are. If you hate them, it's too easy to lash out blindly. And we'll never win that way. We need to learn how they work or we won't ever win this fucking war."

Kyle and Derek watching John in silence. He swallows harshly and looks away.

[end section]


	3. Maybe Around The Eyes

TITLE: Maybe Around The Eyes

CHARACTERS: Derek Reese, Kyle Reese

SUMMARY: _Sarah Connor doesn't have any kin._

* * *

"What do you think of the kid?" Derek asks Kyle one night as they're splitting a can of beans at campstove in one of the lesser used tunnels.

"John?" Kyle asks around a spoonful.

Derek nods.

Kyle shrugs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Seems like a good kid. Doesn't mind getting his hands dirty. Saved my ass."

Derek's lips press into a thin, hard line as he contemplates his brother's words. Derek's gaze is fixed in the distance, down the tunnel where John and Allison are taking care of the dogs. One of the big German shepherds, Rook, bounds against John, hitting him square in the chest with his paws and knocking the kid on his ass. John laughs as the dogs licks his face. It's the only time the kid ever looks content, when he's with the dogs.

Derek knows that John likes Allison. The entire crew probably knows it – except maybe Allison. But the looks John gives Allison aren't ones of contentment. They're not even lust or love. They're … complicated in a way that makes Derek uneasy.

"Whahhh?" Kyle asks around another mouthful.

Derek shoots his brother a withering glance. How many goddamn times did their mother yell at him not to talk with his mouth full? He may be the hero of Century Work Camp, but as far as Derek is concerned, Kyle will forever be his pain in the ass little brother.

"There's something … _strange_ about him is all," Derek says, at a loss for anything more substantial to complain about.

Kyle rolls his eyes and tosses the spoon in the now empty can. "You're starting to sound like Crazy Roger," Kyle says in a warning tone.

"I'm not paranoid," Derek snaps, well aware that he sounds paranoid.

Kyle raises his eyebrows at this brother in a knowing expression. "You're the one who was so sure the kid was harmless."

"I didn't say he was harmless," Derek replies tightly. "I said he wasn't metal. And I didn't want Ta and his hair trigger killing some stupid kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Jesus, Derek," Kyle swears, sounding exhausted, "cut the kid some slack. We're all he has." Kyle leaves the rest unsaid. _John's not like us. He's not one of the Reese boys. He's not lucky enough to have blood here._

Derek shakes his head, more in irritation with Kyle than disagreeing with what he said. "John Connor," Derek muses. "The way he said it. He expected me to know who he is." He gives Kyle a pointed look. "And his mother? _Sarah_ Connor."

Kyle shrugs, settling back against the tunnel wall, intending to catch some shuteye while he can. "He's some orphan kid, Derek. Leave 'im be. He wouldn't be the first person to lie about who they are so they don't feel so alone."

"So you don't think he's her son, then?" Derek needles.

Kyle opens one eye. "Far as I know, Sarah Connor doesn't have any kin. They all died before J-Day."

Derek purses his lips at his brother, his expression patently disapproving. "She's old enough to be your mother too, you know."

Kyle snorts and looks away. "It's not like that," he says in a tone that implies exactly the opposite.

"She's also a relentless bitch," Derek continues.

Kyle shakes his head dismissively, pulling his stocking cap down to cover his eyes. "That's not exactly a bad thing these days," he says. "But like I said, she doesn't have any kin."

"And it's not like that," Derek prods.

"It's not like that," Kyle repeats with little vehemence.

Derek looks over at his brother, already half asleep. He always could fall asleep no matter what else was going on. "You're a shitty fucking liar, Kyle."

Derek settles back against the wall next to Kyle, but keeps his eyes trained down the tunnel on John and Allison. Kyle's right. Derek knows about Sarah Connor. Not that she keeps a high profile. She doesn't. And considering it was her, maybe even moreso than Kyle, who was responsible for the breakout, it wouldn't be shocking if she was the hero at Century. But she let Kyle take all the glory.

But Derek's never heard anything about Sarah Connor having a kid, dead, live or otherwise. If she did though, maybe that would explain the weird rapport between her and Kyle. Derek rubs his chin as he considers the idea and then rejects it. Whatever it is that's between Sarah and Kyle, it isn't a parent-child vibe. Derek doesn't know exactly what it is. Doesn't _want_ to know what it is. But it's there. "He kinda looks like 'er."

"Nggg?" Kyle murmurs.

"John," Derek says. "He kinda looks like Sarah Connor."

Kyle opens one eye, glaring at his brother. "He kinda looks like you too. Maybe he's your kid."

Derek smiles, glad to have finally struck a nerve with his brother. "I'm serious."

Kyle shrugs, glancing toward John as if comparing him to some mental picture inside his head. "Dunno. Maybe around the eyes, yeah."

"But Sarah Connor doesn't have any kin," Derek says, throwing Kyle's words back at him.

Kyle nods, but it's clear from his expression that he's less and less convinced of that fact.

"And it's not like that," Derek needles with a wicked grin.

Kyle shoves Derek in the shoulder as hard as he can, toppling his brother over on his side. "Fuck you," he says without any real heat.

[end section]


	4. Piecemeal

**TITLE: Piecemeal**

**CHARACTERS:** John Connor, Allison Young

* * *

John sees Allison out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't acknowledge her, intent on piecing through the mangled pile of electronic equipment. He had hoped that since this building used to house Ziera Corp that there might be something useful in the ruins, but that hope was quickly dying. Still, this is preferable to mingling with the rest of the unit, pretending he doesn't notice how uncomfortable he makes them.

"You've been down here a long time," Allison says, lowering herself to the filthy concrete floor next to him.

He shrugs.

"It's not safe," she continues, looking pointedly at his rifle propped against the wall, not exactly in easy reach. "You need backup."

John looks at her, holds her gaze for a long moment. "Yeah," he snorts. "I'll be sure to pick someone from the horde that are dying to watch my back."

Allison frowns and John knows he unintentionally bruised her feelings. For that, he feels bad. It's still hard for him to remember he can't talk to her the way he could talk to Cameron. Unlike Cameron, Allison takes things personally. But also unlike Cameron, when Allison smiles, she actually means it. And he's relatively sure Allison isn't going to glitch out and make an attempt on his life.

"Hey," he says, contrite. "Sorry. I just …" He trails off, unsure of how to finish the sentence so he doesn't. In frustration, he drags a grease covered hand through his spiky hair.

Allison smiles softly then, reaches over and uses her thumb to wipe a grease smudge from his forehead.

He smiles nervously as she finally removes her hand.

"You're sweet," she says.

He smiles tightly. "You are definitely the only person who thinks that."

The smile dies from her eyes and she contemplates him seriously. "You scared them," she admits. "With that thing you did during the last raid."

Unconsciously, John's hand goes to the vest pocket that contains the chip he pulled from the mangled triple eight endo. The machine had still been scrabbling for purchase among the rubble, still lethal when John used his knife to pry out the chip. His sense of triumph had been short lived as he turned and found the rest of his crew watching him with open suspicion. "Yeah, I know," he says. "Why do you think I'm down here freezing my ass off alone?"

She purses her lips at him. "Kyle trusts you. And the rest of the camp follows him."

John nods, ducking his head. Allison is right. Kyle does seem to trust him. Or if it's not trust, at least he isn't openly looking for a reason to boot John out of camp. John knows it would be in his best interest to play up that connection, but it's still so awkward for him being so close to both Kyle and Derek with neither of them having any idea who he is. "I know," he says. "I would just rather find a way to show them that what I did has its uses."

Allison doesn't immediately reply. She just looks at him, her head tilted to the side in an expression that is so reminiscent of Cameron's mannerisms but at the same time, completely wrong. Like an imperfect imitation – though, he assumes it was Cameron who was the imperfect imitation of Allison and not the other way around.

"You understand the machines, don't you?" Allison asks quietly.

John swallows thickly, about to choke on this particular irony. "I don't know," he says evasively. "But I think having more information on the enemy is a good thing."

"Information," Allison says and then looks pointedly at where John's hand rests over the triple eight's chip. "Can you get information from it?"

He shrugs and looks forlornly at the mound of useless electronic equipment. "Maybe," he says feebly. He picks up a piece of crumbling circuit board. "If I had the right equipment."

She studies him intently for a moment, like she has a secret she's not certain she wants to share. And then, she smiles again, softly. "There's another resistance camp. At Serrano Point. They have techs. Techs who might be able to do the things you're talking about."

"Serrano Point," John says, eyes narrowing. "The nuclear power plant?"

Allison nods.

"The machines don't control it?"

Her brow furrows and she gives him a funny look. "No. It's a resistance camp," she says, shaking her head. "One of the Friendlies."

"Friendly?" John repeats, brow furrowed, a smile tugging at his lips. "There are unfriendly resistance camps?"

Allison nods gravely. "There are some camps that raid other resistance camps."

John's jaw falls open. They're in the middle of a war for the very future of humanity and people are wasting resources warring with each other?

"All of the camps are autonomous. Some camps get along better than others. We look out for each other when we can, but mostly we stick to ourselves. But there might be people at Serrano Point that could help you."

John nods. Serrano Point.

[end section]


	5. Touchstone

**TITLE: Touchstone**

**CHARACTERS:** John Connor, Kyle Reese

* * *

John ducks his head around the corner nervously, but when he realizes the room is empty, his spirits fall. Dammit. He's not here either.

John has been carrying this stupid radio around camp for an hour, trying to find Kyle. Most days he feels like he can't take ten steps without running into either Kyle or Derek. And now that he's looking for Kyle, he can't find him. John absently tosses the radio in his hand and catches it again. It works. He pieced it back together from the pile of junk in the basement. And not that it's really news enough to warrant showing Kyle, but John needs an excuse to talk to him and this is the best that he could come up with.

He curses under his breath, leaning back against the concrete wall. He turns and starts to head down the tunnel when something catches his eye. He stops, looking back to where the light glinted off the weathered metal.

John stares into Kyle's room for a long moment, his head canted to the side. He walks into the room and reaches for the object half-buried in the sleeping bag on Kyle's unmade bunk. He flips back the fabric and stares.

It could just be a coincidence with absolute no significance. But even as he stares at it, he finds that option doubtful. It's too similar. The same size. The same tarnished silver surface, though more battered now. Carefully John reaches down and picks it up. A pocket watch. Just like the one Cameron gave him the day Riley was murdered.

John can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He swallows thickly, his mouth dry. Carefully, he presses down on the stem and the watch's cover pops open revealing not a watch face, but three buttons. Two black. One red. This is _his_ watch. The one he wore against his skin every moment of the day. The one he lost when he jumped through time.

"I let you borrow my coat, but I'm going to start getting suspicious if you keep taking off with all my stuff."

John spins around, looking from Kyle and then back to the watch he holds.

Kyle smiles awkwardly and nods towards the watch. "That's mine," he says carefully. "I'll need it back."

John shakes his head, opening his mouth to say something. But he has no idea what to say, so he snaps it shut again. "Where?" he finally manages. "Where did you get this?"

"From a friend," Kyle says quietly.

"What friend?" John demands tightly.

Kyle looks at him, but says nothing. He squares his shoulder, his expression turning from hesitantly friendly to suspicious. "John, what are you doing in my quarters?"

John shakes his head, brought back to the task at hand. "I was looking for you," he says. He looks at the radio he still holds.

"Why?"

John looks at the radio and then at the pocket watch. Fuck it. "Serrano Point," he says. "I need to go there."

Kyle frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. "Serrano Point? Why?"

"I talked to Allison," John says. "She mentioned that some of the techs there might have the equipment I need to be able to read the information off chips."

"Like the one you pulled out of the triple eight last week?"

"Yeah," John says.

Kyle's expression is tight and he doesn't immediately reply. Instead, he steps closer to John and holds out his hand expectantly. John hands him the radio and then, reluctantly, the pocket watch. Kyle looks at the watch for a moment before snapping it shut and slipping it inside his vest. "What're you looking for, John?"

John's brow furrows. "I was looking for you. I told you that."

"No," Kyle clarifies. "I mean on the chip. What're you looking for?"

John shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits. "Answers."

"You really think you're going to find them buried in Skynet's brain?"

"Maybe," John says lamely. "I have to try."

Kyle steps closer, not quite invading John's personal space. They meet each other's eyes for a long moment. John can feel it. He wonders if Kyle can too. That strange pull, the desire to trust one another even though they are virtually strangers. It's confusing enough to John and he knows why it's there. He can only imagine how awkward it must be for Kyle.

Kyle narrows his eyes. "Where'd you come from?"

John shrugs, unable to look at Kyle. "Here. There. Around."

John knows that Kyle knows he's holding out on him. But what else can he do? It's not like he can tell Kyle the truth. John's been given his fondest dreams. He has his father. He has his uncle. The girl of his dreams is a real, live girl. And nobody knows the name John Connor.

But none of it is supposed to be this way. It's a living nightmare. The world has been burned to ash and humanity teeters on the brink. The human resistance isn't supposed to be this scattered. Humans aren't supposed to be warring with each other.

It's all his fault.

He has to fix it.

He has to find her.

"Please," John says quietly. "Just help me. I need to get to Serrano Point."

Kyle frowns. "I'll see what I can do, but it's a hell of a hike through heavily patrolled territory and we can't afford to spread ourselves thin right now."

John's eyes fall shut with disappointment and Kyle claps him on the shoulder. "Hang in there," he says. "We'll get you there eventually."

[end section]


	6. Bequest

**TITLE: ****Bequest**

**CHARACTERS:** Sarah Connor, Kyle Reese

**TIMELINE:** 2021 post Judgment Day

**NOTE:** _This particular section is set about 6 years before the events of chapter 1_

* * *

**Century Work Camp – 2021**

* * *

Sarah sinks down into a crouch, silently reviewing for the hundredth time the rudimentary schematics scratched into the dirt. They aren't complete. Some of their intel is very, very sketchy. But they can't afford to wait any longer. They have to make a move, regardless of the risk or there won't be enough humans left in Century to do anything.

She looks up in time to see Reese approach, flanked by four of their most trusted soldiers, Velasquez, Shanks, Keller and Hyun. "We're ready," Reese says, meeting her eyes with a quiet intensity.

She pushes herself up to stand, brushing off her hands. Reese gives the others a sidelong glance and they all take the hint and retreat, leaving him alone with Sarah in the remains of what used to be a service corridor under Century City Mall. She and Kyle are the undisputed leaders here, it's understandable that they would need to confer in private. But it makes Sarah uneasy.

She looks away, down at the floor, anywhere but at Kyle. He watches her with that same intensity that another Kyle, _her_ Kyle, watched her so many years ago. This isn't right. And it isn't just the age difference. Yeah, so she's forty-six and he's nineteen, but in this world that's all burned to hell, that hardly matters. Except that it matters _to her_. Because she shouldn't be old enough to be his mother. She shouldn't have been the one to teach him how to pound those metal motherfuckers into junk.

She shouldn't have to mourn the loss of their son alone.

"Hey," he says softly, stepping closer. He takes her hand. He's getting bolder. For years he just used to watch her. But he's a man now. And he obviously knows that she's noticed.

She looks down at their intertwined fingers. Even knowing how wrong it is, how wrong everything is, she can't help but take pleasure in this. She missed him for so long. She looks up, tracing his features with her eyes. But this isn't her Kyle. This is just another boy she failed.

He reaches out and cups her cheek gently in his hand. "Sarah," he says softly, leaning forward, pressing his forehead to hers.

She allows the contact, her eyes fluttering shut with the sweet, forbidden pleasure of it.

"We're going to get out of here," he says.

She nods, but wonders if it's true. Though she spent a lifetime drilling the legend of John Connor into her son, she finds it almost impossible to emulate his accomplishments. Maybe she's too hardened, too closed off to be able to rally people like John could. Maybe she's too set in her ways, too inflexible to innovate like him. Maybe it's just that she's Sarah Connor, not John Connor, and that only John Connor is capable of accomplishing those feats.

But she still tries. She has to. Or else there's no point to any of this. She told John she'd stop it. She already failed at that. Failed John. She can't fail at this too. Kyle Reese has to make it out of Century Work Camp alive.

She opens her eyes and pulls back, looking at Kyle with a sad smile. "I have something for you."

Kyle's eyebrows raise in surprise. She feels bad about that. She knows that he understands on some level that their attraction is mutual. But she also knows that she keeps him at arm's length. If she gave him just a little encouragement, they would probably be lovers. But she just … can't.

Sarah lifts her hands to the collar of the military issue shirt she wears. Her fingers feel awkward, clumsy as she undoes one button and then another. Kyle watches intently. She can hear the pace of his breathing increase.

Sarah reaches in her shirt and grabs the chain. In a fluid motion, she pulls the watch out of her shirt and the chain from around her neck. She takes Kyle's hand and presses the pocket watch into his palm, curling his fingers around it, holding his hand in both of hers.

"What is it?" he asks.

Her lips curve into a sad smile. "It's the only thing I have left of the person who meant the world to me." She looks up at him, watching him watching her. "You should have it."

He opens his mouth, but then closes it again and nods. Together, they slip the chain over his head and the pocket watch slides under his shirt, against his skin. Sarah presses her hand to his chest, feeling the weight of the pocket watch through the worn fabric.

The pad of his thumb brushes over her cheek and he says, "You look so sad."

She presses her lips together wondering what he thinks. Does he think she mourns an old lover? That would kill her. Kyle Reese is the only man she ever loved without reservation. He will always have her heart. But he's right. She is sad, heartbroken. Losing Kyle nearly killed her. But losing John … it did kill something inside of her. Something she can never get back. She's afraid there's not enough left of her heart to fight for humanity.

He takes a breath and his hands find her hips, pushing her back against the wall. Her fingers fist in the material of his shirt. He presses a kiss to her temple and she can feel the warm heat of his breath, the urgent press of his body against hers.

"We're going to get out of here, Sarah," he says. There's a promise in those words, an anticipation.

She looks up at him and nods, but it's a lie. If they both manage to make it out of here alive, it won't be the new beginning he's hoping for. It will be the end. He's a man now, one hell of a soldier. He doesn't need her to keep him safe. And the only reason she knows she still has a heart at all is that it breaks every time she looks at him.

He whispers her name again and Sarah silences him with a kiss. He's hesitant at first, careful, waiting to see if she's going to reconsider. But she's not going to. Not now. She kisses him harder, nips at his lips, coaxing him to open his mouth. He does and she teases her tongue against his.

His intake of breath is sharp and one of his hands grips her hip tightly while the other threads through her hair. His reserve fades completely and he pins her to the wall with his body, pressing hot, urgent kisses to her jaw, her neck, the exposed skin of her upper chest.

Sarah blindly fumbles with the rest of the buttons of her shirt, quickly shrugging out of the garment before pulling Kyle's over his head and tossing it away. She feels the cool metal of the pocket watch against her chest, but she's not going to think about that right now.

* * *

Later, she watches him sleep. He'll need it. Tonight's the night they get out of here – or die trying. The pocket watch rests against his chest and she covers it gently with her hand.

"I love you, Kyle," she whispers. "I always have."

[end section]


	7. Friendlies

**TITLE: Friendlies**

**CHARACTERS:** John Connor, others

* * *

"What do you mean gone?" Derek snaps, shrugging out of his pack.

"Who?" Kyle asks, looking at Derek, who he just followed into the room. They spent the last six hours out on patrol with nothing to show for it and that's enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

"Connor," Derek says flatly, looking back at Akers expectantly.

Akers spreads his hands. "He's not here," he repeats. "His pack is gone and so is his rifle, but no one saw him leave."

Derek turns and frowns at Kyle. Kyle swears under his breath and shakes his head. "Derek, he's just a kid and it's Hell between here and Serrano Point."

Derek grinds his teeth together and looks back at Akers. "Find Allison."

"And somebody raise Velasquez on the broadcast channel," Kyle adds.

* * *

"Don't move!"

"All right. All right. All right," John stammers, hands pressed flat to the ground, his quick intake of breath sending dirt flying as his skull is pressed tighter to the ground by the muzzle of the rifle digging into the flesh behind his ear.

Five nights. It took John five fucking nights, travelling as fast as he could north-northwest from camp toward Avila Beach and Serrano Point. He had more close calls than he cared to recount. And now, within sight of the power plant, he's going to get killed if he can't talk his way out of this.

"Look. I'm not metal," he tries to explain.

"Save it," comes the sharp reply as the barrel digs into skin hard enough to draw blood.

John can hear the static laden chatter of a radio in the distance and then quickly approaching footfalls.

"Let him up, Boone. Control just radioed."

The metal digs into John's flesh one last time and then the pressure is gone. John chances a look up at Boone and then quickly scrambles to his feet.

"Name?" the new arrival demands. He's a skinny Hispanic kid who reminds John a lot of Morris.

"Connor. John Connor."

"I say we kill him," Boone says, her dark eyes narrowed at John. In another time, another place, she would have been a beautiful woman. But in this world, her face is bisected by a grotesque, half healed scar that is nowhere near as disturbing as the complete lack of human emotion in her eyes.

"He isn't metal," the other soldier replies.

"So what?" Boone continues. "He's probably part of Taylor's crew, just here to stir up trouble. It'd be better for everyone if he just disappeared."

The other soldier seems to consider this for a moment, but then shrugs. "We have orders. Bring him back to camp."

* * *

John marches toward the looming power plant, the barrel of Boone's rifle occasionally jabbing him between the shoulder blades. The other soldier, Alvarez, chatters away at Boone, undaunted by the fact that she does nothing to hold up her end of the conversation.

Though it's probably only five miles, the march takes all night. There are lots of stops and starts, lots of waiting for patrols to pass, holding their breaths, hoping like hell the machines don't find them. They don't head directly toward the power plant, but loop around to the shore and then head up the coast line. They're still probably a mile away from the plant when Alvarez directs them to a hidden culvert, jutting out of the rock cliff face toward the ocean. It's probably an old overflow tunnel from the plant. Together, the three of them pull the iron grating loose and slip inside.

* * *

It's more than an hour later when they've finally wound their way through access tunnels and around booby traps and into the main Serrano Point complex. John looks around, quickly assessing his surroundings. This camp is a lot more heavily fortified and more compact than the miles of sprawling once-urban territory that Kyle, Derek and the rest of their crew patrol. The fact that the power plant is so isolated and such a strategic asset no doubt is the reason.

There are fewer civilians here, fewer tunnel rats. Almost everyone is in uniform. Most of the people are clearly soldiers, but some look like they're possibly techs as well. There are several gigantic pieces of machinery that look like they might be repurposed pieces of Skynet's arsenal.

"This way," Boone barks and John makes a sharp left down one of the tunnels toward the power plant's control room.

The control room is a decent sized room, but it seems cramped because it's packed with people. It's the nerve center of the camp itself as well as the power plant. There are maps covering the walls, two soldiers monitoring radio chatter and a half dozen others watching monitors with different read-outs.

Boone motions for John to wait and he does. Alvarez crosses the room to a slightly built man who is hunched over one of the stations. The man turns and crosses the room with an air of authority that leaves no doubt that he's the one in charge of this camp. John's breath catches as the man comes to a stop in front of him.

"Bedell," John says, starring at the scarred, grizzled features of the boy he once knew.

"John Connor," Martin Bedell replies, looking John up and down. "Reese radioed ahead. Warned us one of his plebs went AWOL and was most likely headed in our direction. When I heard the name I was sure someone was fucking with me."

"I can - I can explain," John stammers.

Bedell shakes his head. "No need," he says. "Someone already did that. Seems like quite a few people have been on the lookout for you."

John follows Bedell's eyeline to the female soldier sitting at one of the stations. She stands up and walks over to them. There's something naggingly familiar about her, but John is pretty sure he's never seen this woman before. She's short but somehow willowy with close cropped auburn hair and calm gray eyes.

"John Connor, this is – "

"We've already met," the woman says with a smile, cutting off Bedell who thankfully doesn't seem to take offense.

John squints his eyes at the woman.

"John taught me how to tie my shoes," she says.

His brow furrows and then his eyes go wide. "Savannah?"

She nods. "I'm the resident chip expert, but," she adds with a wink, "I suspect you probably have some important insights as well."

[end section]


	8. Risk Management

TITLE: Risk Management

TIMELINE: post Judgment Day, 2027

NOTES: Warning, unlike the other sections, this one contains some actual plot. ;p

* * *

John sighs in contentment and leans back in his chair. "Thanks." He figures it's a bad sign that he is not only getting used to what passes for food in this time, but that he considers a meal of roasted pigeon and something that looks suspiciously like seaweed to be not only edible, but a damn good meal. At least it wasn't rat. Or squirrel. Or dog. Dog was the worst.

Savannah led him to the commissary and helped him procure his first meal in three days. Now that his stomach is full, he's finding it hard to keep his eyes open despite all the questions speeding through his mind, but he presses on. "How long have you been here?"

"Serrano Point?" she asks, tucking an auburn lock behind her ear. She looks less like Catherine Weaver than John would have expected. Or maybe it's just that the T-1001 was so devoid of the spark of life that drives Savannah that it's difficult to see the physical similarities. "Four years here. Before that, we were in Mississippi for a while. Before that, it was Colorado. We bounced around a lot after J-Day."

"We," John prompts, suddenly wide awake. "You and John Henry?"

"John Henry," Savannah repeats quietly, sinking back in her chair. "Wow. It's been a long time since I've heard that name." For several long moment, she seems lost in memory. She catches herself and shakes her head. "No. Not John Henry. I haven't seen him since … _before._ No. I mean me and James. Mr. Ellison."

"Ellison," John repeats, disappointed and at the same time, encouraged by the sound of a familiar name. "He stayed with you after …"

"After the shape-shifting terminator who had been impersonating my dead mother jumped through time with you after John Henry?"

John winces sympathetically.

Savannah gives him a sad smile. "It's okay," she says. "I've had a long time to come to terms with it." The corners of her mouth curve up wryly. "As much as you can come to terms with something like that."

John nods solemnly. "I know what you mean," he says in a near whisper.

Savannah watches him carefully.

John squirms a little in his chair and eventually has to look away.

"Are you going to ask me about her?"

"Who?" John asks, unable to meet Savannah's gaze.

"You mom," she says softly.

John swallows thickly, blinking back tears. He steels his resolve and gives Savannah his best poker face, jaw set. "What happened to my mom?"

Savannah smiles again. "I don't know where she is right now," she says. "Sarah and James used to trade information every now and then. They weren't friends exactly, but I guess after you live through J-Day, anyone familiar becomes family."

John can't move, can't breathe. "She's …" He can't say it. His throat burns too badly. "She's _alive? _But Cameron said … Cameron said she was sick._"_

Savannah gives him a helpless expression. "I don't know anything about Sarah being sick. If she was, she hid it well." Quickly, she adds, "But I haven't heard a word about her in at least six months."

"But six months ago," he says, frantically leaning across the table toward Savannah. "Six months ago she was alive."

Cautiously, Savannah nods. "Yeah. I saw her in the control room. I didn't speak to her. She was talking to Bedell and Perry."

John takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair. Sarah might still be alive. He hadn't even allowed himself to consider the possibility.

Savannah leans forward and gently touches John's hand. "She's a pretty fringe element, even in these times. But once or twice a year, she shows up out of the blue with recon. Good recon. If it wasn't for what she did at Century, I think some people might suspect she was a Gray."

John's brow furrows as he tries to parse all of Savannah's comments. "She was in Century?"

Savannah nods. "Yeah. The official story is that Kyle Reese, Derek's younger brother, was the one who broke them all out, but James always maintained that Sarah was the one behind most of it. I don't know if that's true or not."

John blinks at Savannah. Sarah was in Century with Kyle? And no one told him. His joy at the thought of Sarah being alive is tempered by a sense of betrayal so deep he can barely breathe. Kyle and Derek knew. They knew and they didn't tell him. His own family in this God forsaken time let him think he was an orphan.

"John," Savannah says, squeezing his hand. "You okay?"

He shakes off the emotion, pushing it down, burying it like he's buried so many others in his life. "Yeah. Fine."

She looks unconvinced, but she lets it drop. "I'll ask around, see if anybody has any idea how to get in contact with Sarah."

"Maybe Ellison knows," John offers.

Savannah's lips purse together tightly and she swallows thickly. "James died earlier this year. Biological warfare. Took our two entire camps before we were able to manufacture a cure."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Savannah says sadly. Slowly, she rises to her feet. "Come on. We'll find you a bunk."

* * *

John looks up as Savannah enters the lab. "I talked to Bedell," she says. "He says he'll do what he can, but he can't make any promises about your mom."

John nods. Bedell's certainly not in a position to be wasting manpower trying to track down someone who obviously doesn't want to be found. The fact that he's willing to give it any priority at all is testament to Bedell's sense of honor.

John looks back at the chip, adjusting the voltage and then tapping in another sequence, trying to access the menus again. Savannah's lab is impressive, especially considering how scarce resources are in this time. There are two other techs, Radha Martin, a former electrical engineer in her early fifties and a thirty-something mechanic who goes by the name Ears. According to Savannah, the three of them have spent the last four years trying to decode enough of Skynet's syntax to enable them to pull meaningful intel off the chips. So far, they haven't had a whole lot of luck. They usually go straight for the visual memory since they don't need the syntax to be able to understand the recordings. However, without any sort of primer, they're often left without any way to understand how one clip might relate to another.

"The most basic pieces of the coding are in Assembly and LISP," Radha says, looking over John's shoulder. She taps on several of the keys, launches a command window and types in a few symbols that flood the window with line after line of decompiled code. "Here," she says, pointing to several lines of code.

John winces. God, he hates LISP. But he slogs through a couple lines of code and gets enough to understand that it's a procedure call for moving information from one section of physical memory to another.

"But it's only the most low level functions," Radha continues. "Any of the higher level functions and most of the raw data storage is in some Skynet specific language we haven't been able to decipher yet."

"Why do you want to decipher it?" John asks.

Savannah and Ears stop what they're doing and join Radha in staring at him. John's getting rather used to that. In only three days in the lab, he's stopped them all in their tracks several times with his comments.

"I'm serious," John presses. "I can drive a car, but I don't really want to understand the intimate details of petroleum processing or how an internal combustion engine works." He does, actually, understand the intimate details of both petroleum processing and the internal combustion engine, but that's not the point of this discussion.

"Maddy thought the way you do," Savannah says. "She played with them, poked around, experimented with some of the machines we had."

"And?"

"And one of them killed her. And a two dozen other soldiers before someone finally took it out with an RPG that destroyed two years worth of research," Savannah explains.

John purses his lips together and nods. This is dangerous. He understands that. But at the same time, they can't afford to take the amount of time necessary to try and methodically slice away at Skynet. Humanity doesn't have that kind of time, regardless of the risks.

* * *

"You're giving that chip too much voltage," Ears says, shooting John a warning look.

John glances up and then looks away, rolling his eyes. "I know what I'm doing." John's been a part of Savannah's team for three weeks and he and Ears still haven't found a way to really get along.

"Savannah's not gonna like it," Ears presses.

"I'll handle Savannah," John says, in what he hopes is a confident tone of voice. The whole reason he's doing this while Savannah's out of the lab is because he knows she won't like it.

Ears snorts, but doesn't say anything.

John turns his attention back to the chip again. The more he digs into it, the more convinced he is that Savannah's methodology, while elegant, is flawed. Flawed because humanity can't afford to wait. Savannah is too careful. She and her team are never going to make the kinds of advances they need to make in understanding Skynet's architecture with the baby steps they're taking. They need to be decisive. They need to take risks, or there's never going to be any payoff.

"What the?" Ears curses.

Looking over his shoulder, John sees one of the mechanical arms that Ears was dissecting start to move. John immediately looks back at his chip and then at his monitor. It flickers black for a moment and then he's looking at a live video feed of himself, washed in the red tones of Skynet's heads up display. "_Fuck_."

John turns and sees the rest of the monitors in the lab flicker and then switch to the heads up display. Ears and John look at each other for a heartbeat, both of them seized with panic. Then, in unison, they both run for the router in the corner of the room. Ears reaches it a second before John and pulls the fiber optic cable connecting it to the rest of the complex network so hard that it strips the optics clean out of the chassis.

Ears is panting. Turning, he looks at John. "You think it got out?"

John opens his mouth to reply, but it's cut short when claxons start blaring in the complex.

* * *

John stares at the toes of his boots. He's slumped in a chair across from Bedell's desk. John feels like shit. He's been up for days, helping to restore files and reroute power and network lines. It took them thirty-six hours to completely flush the malicious worm out of the power plant's production network. They avoided a meltdown, but a good number of the camp's systems are still offline, namely water desalinization, the pump station for the plumbing to the head and power to the commissary. John's surprised the camp hasn't rioted yet. The fact that they haven't is just testament to the number of hardships these people can endure. And that makes John feel like even more of a tool. Because these people had it bad enough to begin with and he went and fucked it up even worse.

"You blatantly disobeyed protocol," Bedell says.

John nods.

"Why?"

John looks up at the weary general, trying to remember him as the boy he once knew. "Because we're never going to win this war like this."

Bedell looks at John. Bedell's not angry. Not sad. Just tired. He sighs and leans forward, rubbing his eyes.

John's comes to a very uncomfortable realization. Bedell knows. He knows they can't win. He knows humanity is only delaying the inevitable. It's a sobering, terrifying thought. But at the same time, John understands that there isn't anything else Bedell can do except toe the line. Bedell has to try and maintain control or else the inevitable will just happen sooner.

Bedell sits back in his chair, pulls open one of his desk drawers and removes a plastic jug, setting it on the desk. He finds two cups, unscrews the jug's lid and sloshes some of the clear liquid into the chipped glasses.

John takes the cup from Bedell and sniffs at it, wincing as the fumes burn his nose. This crap has to be at least a hundred and forty proof. He grimaces, swigging back the entire shot at once, hoping like hell it doesn't kill him. Or blind him. John coughs violently as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. Between spasms, he watches as Bedell drinks his like water, sighing in contentment.

Bedell waits until John finishes choking and then holds up the jug in offering. John waves him off, but watches as Bedell pours himself another shot and downs it in one gulp.

"You're not supposed to be here, are you?" Bedell asks, contemplating his glass. "Not Ithis/I you. Not John Connor the teenage boy."

John doesn't say anything, but he doesn't break eye contact.

"Just like Derek Reese never should have been at Presidio Alto. At least not the adult Derek Reese." Bedell stares, unblinking, at John for several long moments. He smiles. "You know, the first time I saw him he was probably twenty. I thought I'd lost my mind. But then he introduced himself as Derek." Bedell shakes his head. "Not Derek Baum, mind you. Or Derek Connor. But Derek IReese/I. And Derek Reese didn't know anyone named John Connor."

John looks at the floor, shaking his head. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"We were supposed to win," Bedell says. It's not a question.

Slowly, John looks up and meets his gaze. "Yes. We were supposed to win."

Bedell nods, his expression tight. "And instead, we're just treading water until they finish us off."

John shakes his head. "It doesn't have to be like this," he says vehemently. "We can change it. We can find ways to fight them."

Bedell laughs mirthlessly. "Any more of your experiments go awry and we won't even have to wait for the metal to do us in, we'll save them the trouble and off ourselves."

John winces. He certainly has a point.

Bedell's expression softens. "Things are never as simple as they seem."

John's brow furrows in question.

"You're right," Bedell says bluntly. "We're never going to win this war like this. We have to take chances, even if it means risking our lives." He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "But there are so many fucking vultures just waiting and watching. The metal's only part of the problem."

John considers Bedell's words carefully. "Taylor?"

Bedell nods. "Taylor. Fucking jackal. He likes to stir up trouble in the camps. Spreads dissention, chaos, anarchy." He smiles mirthlessly. "As if we don't already have enough of that."

John looks pointedly at Bedell. "Can't you just …"

"Off him?" Bedell asks. When John nods, he chuckles. "Wish it was that simple. And don't think I haven't seriously considered it. Taylor's half crazy, but he's not stupid. He has followers, zealous followers. If we got rid of him – if people found out it was us, it would tear apart what passes for human society. We'd all be totally fucked."

"Taylor would do that?" John asks, dumbfounded that anyone's ego could be that big. "He'd risk what remains of humanity to suit his own agenda?"

"In a heartbeat," Bedell confirms darkly. "Taylor uses metal to further his own ends. He uses them as the bad guys in his own personal mythology. The boogymen." He smiles mirthlessly. "The evil from which Taylor will deliver humanity."

A chill traces down John's spine. Taylor's rhetoric is no doubt powerful with the straggling remains of the human race.

"It's all a bunch of bullshit," Bedell sneers. "I don't even think Taylor believes half the shit he says. But it doesn't matter. He's learned it's power. It gets him followers, people willing to do anything for him in the name of humanity. Thirty years ago the guy would have had some infomercial empire. Now he's a bigger threat to the survival of humanity than Skynet."

John shakes his head. "It's all the more reason to act now. We can't wait. Between the machines and Taylor's insurrection, if we don't do something soon, the human race is truly going to be lost."

Bedell pours another shot of alcohol into his glass and swirls it around, watching the liquid. He shakes his head. "I'm barely holding this camp together as it is. A few years ago we found an old nuclear sub. One of Savannah's techs, Maddy, had some metal she swore she reprogrammed enough to be able to captain the damn thing. We were going to try and use it for supply runs, to reach out to potential human allies." He swallows the alcohol in one mouthful and then takes a deep breath. "Taylor stirred up a hornet's nest of trouble over the damn thing. Convinced people that the captain couldn't be trusted, that we were conspiring with the enemy. A few of his crazier followers got on board and scuttled the sub. Cost me four of my best soldiers. Taylor spread rumors that the metal had flipped on us, that it was responsible for it all. That we brought it down on ourselves."

"Jesus," John curses.

Bedell nods sadly.

"Then we are completely screwed," John says.

Bedell nods again. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

John sighs in frustration and reaches across the desk, pouring himself another shot and choking it down. He and Bedell sit in silence for several moments, both of them lost in misery and memories.

"So tell me," Bedell finally says. "How the hell are you here?"

"It's a long story."

Bedell leans back in his chair and props his feet up on his desk. "I've got time."

John contemplates his empty glass. Maybe it's the alcohol. Or maybe he's just sick of lying to people. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Try me."

John looks at Bedell for a long moment and then lets out a harsh breath. It comes out in a jumble. All of it. Sarah. Kyle. How an adult Derek ended up at Presidio Alto. How a teenage John Connor ended up in 2027. And why the world was so fucked.

Bedell listened to it all in silence and when John finally finished, he simply nodded. "I know that the metal if fucking with things it doesn't have any business fucking with. Goes against nature."

"You know about Skynet's time travel research?"

Bedell nods. "Topanga Canyon. Lot of freaky shit going down there."

John leans forward, looking at Bedell with a pleading expression. "We have to get into that facility. Trust me when I tell you that if we do, we can stop all of this from happening."

Bedell laughs. "Shit. I can't mount an offensive of that scale."

"You have to," John says firmly.

Bedell's lips press into a thin, hard line and he looks at John. "I'll see what I can do," he says. "But if I were you I'd get used to this time."

John nods. Bedell will do what he can and that's all John can ask for. But Bedell is wrong. John can fix this. He Iwill/I fix this.

* * *

Hours later, John is patrolling the old service tunnels underneath Serrano Point. It makes him feel useful and puts him somewhere that he doesn't have to endure the dirty looks from all the people he pissed off with his chip experimentation.

"It's not safe for you to be down here alone."

John spins around, heart pounding. How the hell did someone sneak up on him? Fuck. He has to get his head in the game before it gets blown off.

He sees the man, standing mostly in shadow a couple of dozen yards down the tunnel. He keeps his weapon trained on him. "What the fuck do you want?"

The man steps forward and John raises the rifle higher. The lighting sucks and John's eyes burn from lack of sleep and Bedell's moonshine.

"You shouldn't be here, John. You shouldn't have come."

John blinks and then watches as the man steps closer and closer. Even in the dim light, John can make out the features that used to belong to Cromartie. He swallows thickly. "John Henry?"

The cyborg tilts its head to the side and looks at him quizzically.

"Cameron?"

* * *

[end section]


	9. Ravening Wolves

**Ravening Wolves**

**It's A Wonderful Life Series**

* * *

"You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be at Serrano Point. It's not safe."

John stares at … him (her?) aghast. "Not safe," he repeats. "_Nothing_ about this time is safe. Nowhere is safe."

The cyborg's lips purse together in displeasure.

John steps closer, fighting the adrenalin rush caused by being in close quarters with the machine that hunted him for so long. But this isn't Cromartie. Cromartie is dead. Sarah pounded him to dust in Mexico. This is something different. "Cameron?" he says hesitantly, "is that you?"

Wide, guileless eyes study him. "Yes."

John stares at the body. Cromartie's body. John Henry's body. It's a lot more difficult than John would have imagined to think of Cameron in this physical form. How many times did he brush off Sarah's and Derek's concerns that he was relating to Cameron as if she was a human woman? He insisted time and time again that he knew what she was. And yet, looking at the cyborg, knowing that it's Cameron's chip in this body …

It's incredibly unsettling to John. He swallows thickly and takes a few steps in retreat. "Where's Weaver?" he asks. "She ditched me right after we jumped."

"The being you know as Weaver is here," Cameron replies.

John looks at the cyborg. He honestly has no idea what Cameron means by 'here'. In this time? In this base? In his/her head? "What about John Henry? Where's he?"

Cameron tilts his/her head to the side again in a sharp, twitchy motion. John makes a mental note that apparently her glitches weren't entirely due to damage to her original endoskeleton. It might be chip damage. Or something programmatic. Neither option is comforting.

The sound of dogs barking snaps John out of his thoughts. In the distance, he hears the sound of heavy footfalls. He shoots Cameron a hard look. "You have to get out of here."

The cyborg stares at him.

"This isn't your future," John says quietly, urgently. "The Resistance camps don't use cyborgs. If they find you, they'll attack."

The look that Cameron gives John isn't comforting. "I am aware of the Resistance's stance toward cyborgs."

John takes a step closer, his expression a warning scowl. The barking of the dogs is getting closer by the moment. "No fighting. Just get out of here."

He has the impression that Cameron is less than happy, but the cyborg turns and leaves. John heads back up the tunnel, toward the sound of the dogs and soldiers while Cameron makes an exit.

* * *

The bounding dogs don't give John a moment's notice, racing past him down the tunnel in the direction Cameron just fled. John continues in the opposite direction, up the tunnel toward camp – and the shouting. Three men jog down the tunnel toward John. One stops, sizing up John for a moment before he yells after the other two, "Bring those damn dogs back, stat!"

John holds his rifle at the ready, but doesn't point it at the guy who is also armed, pistol in hand. John doesn't recognize the guy and while the camp is big, it's not that big. This guy is new.

"Any idea what set the dogs off?" the guy asks John, eyes narrowed.

"Metal."

"You saw it?"

John shakes his head. "No."

The guy frowns, obviously irritated with John's answer. "If you didn't see it, how do you know it's metal?"

"Because metal's the only thing that ever gets the dogs that worked up," John replies dryly.

The guy frowns and jerks his head back up the tunnel, motioning for John to walk.

It's a couple hundred yards before John and the guys meet up with the larger group. Eleven people, all of them close to John's age with the exception of one guy with wiry gray hair and crazy eyes. John doesn't need to ask who this is. "Taylor."

Taylor smiles mirthlessly at John. "Gerald Taylor," he confirms. "And you are?" he asks, stepping closer. The group parts to make way for him. Taylor and his sycophants must be on their way into camp, though John is certain Bedell isn't expecting them.

"John Connor," John says boldly.

"Connor," Taylor repeats, pursing his lips like he's chewing on John's name. He smiles and it gives John a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Well, John Connor, what say we give you an escort back to Serrano Point."

* * *

John glances over at the man. He's probably in his late fifties, but he looks older. The guy's crazy. John's known enough crazies to be able to spot them a mile away. But Taylor's also got a keen intellect. John watches the way Taylor interacts with his guards and understands just how much sway Taylor holds over his followers.

As Taylor and his guards step out of the access tunnel and into the main camp, John takes careful note of the way the Serrano Point crew bristle. Everyone's hands goes to their weapons and several of the Serrano Point crew speak, rapid fire, into their radios.

"Gee, Gerry," John says, "you sure seem to be a popular guy."

Taylor's eyes narrow at John. "Oh, don't you worry about me, John Connor," he says with a cold smile. "God has plans for me."

"Really?" John baits. "Beware false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves." John isn't sure exactly why he's saying the things he's saying. He just knows that he's spent weeks loathing the Iidea/I of Gerald Taylor and now that he's met the man face to face, he finds him even more abhorrent.

Taylor smiles, baring his yellowed, crooked teeth. There is insanity in his eyes. "Wolves in sheep's clothing," he muses. He looks at John, his eyes cataloging him from head to toe. "Your mother, Sarah, came to us as a wolf in sheep's clothing," he says, enjoying the way the words cause John to blanch. "She spoke of you often, of how failing you broke her." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "I expected ... Imore/I of you from the way she spoke. But I suppose mothers are blind to the shortcomings of their children. Even godless bitches like Sarah Connor."

Taylor paces away from John, his hands clasped behind his back like he's out for a Sunday stroll. He turns, glancing back at John. "Sarah is fortunate. God has seen fit to teach her humility."

John is rooted to the spot, staring at Taylor. Did this man do something to Sarah? Shouting in the distance breaks John from his thoughts and he turns to see Bedell pushing his way through the crowd that has gathered.

Bedell claps a hand around John's upper arm and pulls him away from Taylor, pushing him back into the several dozen armed Serrano Point guards. "Get your ass out of here now, Taylor," Bedell barks, barely managing to hold on to his temper.

Taylor looks at Bedell blandly. "We have an agreement, General Bedell," he says smoothly. "Surely you're not going to back out of the terms of our agreement."

Bedell glares at Taylor for several long moments. "One day," Bedell says. "One day and then you're out of here. You'd better damn well stay in your quarters too or you're gone. You and all your flunkies."

John isn't sure that Bedell could make good on his threat. He watched Taylor's men. They're well armed and well trained. If things came to a head, there would be severe casualties on both sides.

Taylor smiles. "Of course, General," he says, feigning diffidence.

Bedell sends an armed escort of Serrano Point guards with Taylor and his crew. As soon as they're out of sight, he turns on John and thumps him in the head. "What the fuck were doing with Taylor?" he demands.

John takes a step back and rubs his temple despite the fact that it didn't really hurt. "He found me in the tunnels," John explains. "I couldn't exactly refuse."

Bedell mutters to himself. "Bastard's probably been monitoring our radio chatter. Figured our near meltdown would be a great time to come trolling for converts."

Bedell starts marching back toward the control room and when he realizes John isn't with him, he stops and turns back to face him. "What?"

"Taylor knows my mother," John says tightly. "He said God would teach her humility."

Bedell frowns, walking back to where John stands. "I know you're going to find this hard to believe, Connor," he says, "but your mother has a certain knack for getting under people's skin and pissing them off. There's a list longer than my arm of people who'd like nothing better than to shut her up forever." He stops, takes a deep breath. "But if there's one thing I know for sure about Sarah Connor, it's that she doesn't need me or you worrying about her. She can take care of herself."

John relaxes, taking comfort in Bedell's words. This time when Bedell heads toward the control room, John falls into step next to him.

"Pump station is back online," Bedell says. "Head's working again. That may make it a little harder for Taylor to sell his snakeoil."

John nods, once again demoralized by just how unstable human society has become. He glances sidelong at Bedell. "You think Taylor's a gray?"

Bedell snorts. "You think humanity's true prophet made a deal with the devil?"

John frowns. "You don't?"

"Hell yes, I do," Bedell says. "That's the only way he could possibly be thriving the way he is."

John shakes his head in irritation. "But doesn't that make you want - "

"To kill him? Yes," Bedell says vehemently. "Of course it does. But we've already established that I can't do that. If something goes wrong ..." He glances over at John. "We can't. We just can't. I wish we could, but we can't."

John frowns, considering his options.

* * *

"You have any trouble getting in?" he asks, hands shoved in his pockets. He's hunched in on himself, watching the machine closely. Cameron. He has to start thinking of it as Cameron and let go of the physical form.

Cameron seems amused by the idea that it might have been difficult to breach the Serrano Point defenses. "No. It was not difficult."

John steps closer despite the unease he feels being close to this endoskeleton. "Do you know who Gerald Taylor is?"

Cameron looks away for a moment and then nods. "He leads one of the human militias active in this area. He seems to be a very charismatic, though unstable, leader."

John steps even closer and Cameron watches him intently. "I need you to do me a favor," John says quietly. "I need you to take care of Taylor."

Cameron's head cants to the side. "Take care?"

John grimaces. "Kill," he says tightly. "I need you to kill Gerald Taylor before he dooms the entire human race."

Cameron nods. "Thank you for explaining."

In the distance, someone shouts "Now!".

John is knocked to the floor along with Cameron as thousands of gallons of water pounds down on them. John is coughing, fighting for breath as two people grab his arms and drag him backwards, away from Cameron. He watches in horror as three of the Serrano Point guards step forward armed with things that look like a cross between cattle prods and tazers.

"No!" John yells, fighting to get to Cameron.

Someone steps in front of John and he looks up from where the guards have him pinned to the ground. It's Bedell. His lips are pursed tightlyand he shakes his head once at John. Defeated, John stops struggling and watches as the guards zap Cameron.

* * *

[end section]


	10. Inside Four Walls

**TITLE: Inside Four Walls**  
**CHARACTERS:** John, Bedell, Savannah, Derek, Kyle  
**SUMMARY:** A lot can happen to a person inside four walls. It messes with your head.

* * *

"Bedell," John starts.

"_General_ Bedell," he corrects, glaring at John.

John looks around the interior of the cell. His vision is blurry and his head feels like it's going to explode, but he has to convince Bedell to let him go. He can't be locked up here. He has to get to Cameron. "General," he pleads. "I swear, it wasn't what it looked like."

"Wasn't what it looked like?" Bedell snaps. "I have three fucking witnesses, two of them are my own goddamn men, who heard you conspiring with metal to kill Taylor."

John's woozy and he's pretty sure he's either going to pass out or puke. Maybe both. He made the mistake of trying to struggle free when he saw them cutting through John Henry's scalp to get to Cameron's chip. He knows the two soldiers who were restraining him. Myers and Haaga. They are good guys. John worked with them several times. But something fundamental shifted in the way they view him. He is the enemy now. Haaga cracked him good across the back of the skull. Hard enough that John blacked out for several minutes. When he came to he was being dragged to the cramped, windowless former storage room that now serves as the brig. John doesn't figure it's a good sign that the room is so small. They don't keep prisoners. They can't afford to. You're either free or dead, no in between.

John stares at the scarred, dingy floor. "So you're going to kill me?" he asks flatly.

"Don't tempt me," Bedell warns. "I'd like to kill you my own damn self right now." He paces out the door, the one that will no doubt be closed and locked the second the General is done berating him. He stops and looks at John. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demands. "How many times did I tell you to leave Taylor alone?"

"He's a parasite," John counters. "You know he's a gray. He's trying to tear apart this base."

"And you thought that bringing metal into my base to assassinate Taylor would improve the situation?" he asks incredulously.

John opens his mouth and then clamps it shut again. He's never going to be able to convince Bedell that he was just doing what needed to be done, that as dire as things are, they'd be better without Taylor.

Bedell sighs and looks at John. "If you're lucky, you won't see me for a while." With that, he turns and leaves. The soldiers guarding the door waste no time in slamming it shut.

* * *

As the door opens, John holds up his hand, blocking the harsh light streaming into the dimly lit cell.

"My God," Savannah curses, crouching down in front of John. She carefully prods the painful bruise on his temple with the tips of her fingers. Her expression is tight as she waits for the guard to shut the door. As soon as it clangs closed, she cocks her head to the side and stares at him incredulously. "What happened?" she demands. "I've been stuck in the service tunnels pulling wire to try and fix the infrastructure meltdown from your last disaster. Ears grabbed me and said you were in the brig."

John opens his mouth to explain and finally gives up, shrugging as he slumps back against the wall. There's immediately an achy pain from the back of his head and John gingerly reaches back and pats his scalp. He winces again and then pulls his hand back, noting the congealed blood on his fingers. He's still staring at the drying blood when he sneezes so hard he sees stars. He'll be lucky if he doesn't die before they get around to executing him. He isn't sure if tetanus or pneumonia would be preferable to being hanged.

Savannah rises to stand and frowns down at him. "I also heard you were soaking wet."

John nods, gesturing toward his sodden clothing.

She bangs on the cell door and John winces at the noise. He watches as she holds out her hand expectantly. After some initial reluctance, the soldier finally hands her the change of clothes. She turns around and tosses them at John before exiting the cell to give him some privacy.

When he's done changing, John bangs on the door again. He hands the wet clothes to one of the guards and then steps aside as Savannah enters the cell. Again, they wait until the door closes before speaking.

"I saw the endoskeleton," she says tightly. "I know it was John Henry."

John searches her face. Savannah, more than anyone else, is in a position to appreciate that this situation isn't what it seems. "You know he wasn't like the rest of them," John says.

Savannah's expression tightens, but she doesn't look at him. "It was metal, John," she says seriously. "Right now, that's all that matters."

John looks dejectedly at the floor. She's right, of course. That is the only thing that matters. And considering how hard Savannah had to fight just to get her R&D lab going, she's certainly not in a place to advocate for him. If they're not careful, she's going to end up in here with him permanently. He releases a long breath. "Did they destroy it?"

"Yeah," Savannah says tightly. "Public incineration."

"Dammit," John curses, smashing his elbow back into the wall in frustration. "The chip?" he asks, hoping desperately. "Did they get the chip?"

"You're damn lucky they didn't incinerate you too, John," Savannah snaps.

John looks up at her, noticing how pale she is, how her hands are shaking. She's terrified. Probably for herself, but also for him too. "I'm sorry," he says, contrite. "You're right."

She sighs and then turns around and leans against the wall next to him. Slowly, she slides down until she's sitting on the floor. John does the same and for a long time, they just sit there, side by side.

"Radha pulled the chip," Savannah finally says.

John's head whips around toward her so fast he has to brace himself against the wall to keep from toppling over. "You have the chip?"

Savannah nods, looking like she wishes she hadn't told him. "I had her lock it up in the lab. Bedell knows too, but if it gets out, it's going to be a full scale riot."

Gently, John touches Savannah's hand. "I promise you it's worth it," he swears. "With this, we can fix it. We can fix everything."

* * *

John sniffs at the gristly piece of meat. It looks terrible. But he's been in this cell for at least two days and he's starving. He sniffs it again and then reluctantly pops it in his mouth. Gingerly, he starts to chew it and then gags. He stops, holding very still as he breaths rapidly through his nose. He chews again and then stops, swallowing harshly.

It takes him half an hour to finish the first bite. The second piece goes down even harder than the first.

He fucking hates eating dog.

* * *

Shaking her head, Savannah says, "Taylor isn't going anywhere. He dug in, called in reinforcements. So far Bedell isn't letting them into Serrano Point, but they're camped outside the perimeter. It's a pretty good show of force."

"Any chance Skynet will do us a favor?" he asks.

She snorts. "Doesn't look likely. The metal's not bothering them."

"Fuck," John curses, staring up at the ceiling. "So what's Taylor up to? He going to declare all out war on Serrano Point just to get me?"

"You're just an excuse, John," she replies. "Taylor wants this camp. He wants Bedell's soldiers. You just provided him with a convenient excuse to bring it all to a head."

"Great."

She leans over, bumping her shoulder into his. "Cheer up," she says. "Bedell managed to negotiate a trial for you."

John arches an eyebrow. "Trial?"

She nods. "In the name of impartiality Bedell called in Derek Reese's camp. They should be here today."

"They're not impartial," John says. "I was part of that camp for two months."

Savannah gives him a hard look. "Well, you should probably refrain from mentioning that to Taylor."

John nods. He's sick of this cell, sick of sitting in the dark for hours at a time. He has nothing but time now - and that irony isn't lost on him. He wonders what the point of all this was? Why did he jump across time only to lose Cameron again. All his life, his mother told him that he'd be a great leader, that he would show humanity how to destroy Skynet. And yet, all he's done in this time is fuck up one thing after another. Great leader? He'll be lucky if he isn't executed for treason.

* * *

John looks up, expecting to see Savannah. But it's not Savannah. It's Kyle Reese, followed closely by Derek.

John immediately pushes himself off the floor, scrambling to his feet as they enter the cell. Both Kyle and Derek's expressions are tight. John doesn't want to think about how crazed he probably looks after spending the better part of a week in the stinking darkness.

"Glad to see you're staying out of trouble," Kyle says with a smile, trying for humor.

It falls flat, but John tries to smile in reply, relieved that his father cares enough to attempt to lighten the mood. He knows that Derek, Kyle and a good number of their camp have been here for more than a day. In his mind, he dreamed up a touching reunion, but as hour after hour passed and neither of the Reeses came to see him, he began to fear the worst. Even now, it's apparent that Derek doesn't want to be here. And John's pretty sure that Kyle just feels sorry for him.

"Savannah said you two would be here for the trial," John says.

"Tribunal," Derek correct immediately.

"Huh?"

Derek gives him a hard look. "Tribunal. Not a trial. You'll get the chance to plead your case in front of a tribunal of five; me, Bedell, Taylor, Brewster and Avila."

John nods. He recognizes Brewster as one of Bedell's ranking officers, but he doesn't know her at all. Avila doesn't ring a bell. Might be part of Taylor's crew. "Does it have to be unanimous?" he asks.

Derek meets his gaze for a long moment, but reveals nothing of what he's thinking. "Unanimous for an execution or exoneration," he says. "Anything short of that is exile."

John swallows thickly and nods again. "So there's no way I'm getting off," he says. "Taylor won't ever go for that. So exile is the best I can hope for."

Derek nods. "Exile is the best you can hope for," he says darkly.

John flinches from his tone, more wounded than he would have thought possible by the reproach in Derek's expression. "Bedell backs me," he says, afraid he sounds like a petulant child.

Derek snorts and chuckles mirthlessly.

"Derek," Kyle chides.

"No," Derek snaps at Kyle. "No." He turns and looks at John. "You and Bedell are buddies. I don't know how or why, but okay. Bedell's solid. He won't leave a man behind. But he's not an idiot. You can be one of his bastards for all I know, Bedell still isn't going to sacrifice this entire outpost to save your ass."

"_Derek,_" Kyle hisses again, grabbing Derek's arm.

"No, Kyle, fuck that," Derek snaps, throwing off Kyle's hand.

John immediately shrinks back, all too familiar with his uncle's penchant for self-righteous rants. For a while, he thought he was through being on the receiving end of them, but apparently not.

"Taylor is a piece of shit who deserves to die," Derek says darkly, advancing on John until his back hits the wall. Derek pokes John hard in the sternum with two fingers. "Taylor's a waste. He's bleeding humanity dry." Derek scowls at John so intensely that John wishes he could crawl under a rock somewhere. "But to sell him out to _metal_?" Derek spits the last word like the entire concept is so distasteful he can barely stomach the idea.

He shakes his head at John, obviously disgusted. "You sold a human out to the metal." Derek stands there, shaking. John's more than a little afraid that Derek's tenuous control is going to slip and his uncle is going to beat the shit out of him right there. "Taylor needs to die," Derek says vehemently. "But you should have manned up. You should have had the balls to do it yourself. Instead, you made a pact with metal." He shakes his head again and finally steps back from John.

John fights for composure. He manages to meet Derek's eyes. "You just heard Taylor's side of things."

Derek shakes his head again, seeing right through John's posturing. "Selling out humans to metal is unforgivable," Derek says with finality. "It's treason."

"Derek, dammit," Kyle curses. "You said you'd give him a chance."

"Screw it," Derek says, turning on his heel and leaving. "I looked into his eyes. He did it."

Kyle gives John an apologetic look, but he doesn't offer any words of comfort. Finally, he ducks out, following Derek.

The door slams shut again and John stares into the darkness.

* * *

Two shift changes later, John is still sitting on the floor, staring blindly into the dark, contemplating what an unmitigated clusterfuck his life has become. He came here to fix things, but there is a very real chance he's going to die. With him dies the only chance humanity has at fighting back from the brink.

And selfishly, that's the least of his worries at the moment. He's so miserable it would almost be a welcome relief just to let it all burn. Derek, who for so long was his only link to his father, can barely stand the sight of him. There were times, _before_, when things were so acrimonious around the Connor household that John wouldn't have thought Derek's opinion of him meant much. But when John looked into his uncle's eyes and saw how much Derek truly despised him, he realized it does matter.

It also made him realize that no matter how much of a pain in the ass _that_ Derek had been, somewhere deep down that Derek always believed in John. Just like Sarah always believed in John - even when she was busting his chops. And now he's realizing that he took it all for granted. How many times did he bitch at Sarah about how she ruined his life, about how she never let him be a normal kid? Sarah knew. She knew what was coming. She knew how hard it would be and she tried like hell to prepare him. And all he did was throw it in her face.

He resented her for so long. He held her responsible for the fact that he was _John Connor_. But as much as he had railed against it, he realized that he believed that simply being John Connor would be enough. He believed that he didn't have to _become_ anyone or anything. He simply was.

Except that ... he wasn't. Isn't. Here and now, being John Connor means nothing. And his own flesh and blood wants him dead because they believe he's a traitor to the human race.

John hears the murmurs on the other side of the door and has time to shield his eyes before the door opens. He watches in silence as the soldier enters the cell and leans back against the far wall. He's standing there, absently adjusting the cuff of one of his well worn gloves. It's an intimidation tactic and John knows it, so he just sits and waits.

"Everyone hates metal," Derek finally says.

John figures his uncle is more monologing than conversing, but he nods just in case.

"But even with every human pledged to wipe them off the face of the earth," Derek continues, "I have never seen anyone who hates metal the way Sarah Connor hates metal."

John goes cold at the mention of his mother's name and he just stares at Derek, keeping his face expressionless.

Derek finally stops messing with the glove and looks at John with that way he has of looking at someone like he's looking right through them. John's only had that look turned on him a few times and it's never comfortable.

"You're not her son," Derek says firmly. He looks away with a nasty smirk. "Kyle told me to leave you alone. He said you were just some orphan kid who made up stories to make himself feel better." He looks back at John, his gaze cold and hard. "But you're not her son."

"You sound pretty sure," John finally says, his voice flippant, challenging.

Derek just smiles mirthlessly. "I am," he says. "The idea of Sarah Connor's son being some metal loving piece of shit is unthinkable. You're not better than Taylor. You latched onto her name because you thought it would put you above suspicion. I should have known you were no good when you pulled the chip on that first machine."

John tries, but that one makes him flinch and look away. He shakes his head, still staring at the ground as he says, "If you're so sure about all this, then what are you doing here?"

Derek doesn't answer. John waits and still he doesn't answer. Finally, John looks up and finds Derek watching him carefully, his gaze no longer quite so cold. It's then that John realizes just how terrible Derek looks. He looks older than his years, beat down. John takes note of the stubble on his jaw, the bags under his eyes. He hasn't slept. Knowing Derek the way he did, John doesn't find that hard to believe. Derek probably spent the night prowling the base. And judging from the way he smells, he probably spent at least a few hours drinking moonshine with Bedell.

All at once, it hits John. This Derek looks the way the old Derek did near the end. After all the bullshit with Jesse. After he saw Kyle's grave. After the old Derek finally lost almost everything - that's how this Derek looks now. This Derek has seen the end. For all of his venom and vitriol, Derek looks defeated.

"No one comes back," Derek finally says. "Ever."

John waits, silent.

"When someone is taken by the metal, that's it. They're dead. I don't know how many friends and family I've lost that way. Here one second, the next," he gestures with his hands. "Gone."

John wraps his arms around his knees, mutely looking up at his uncle.

Derek looks away, staring at his feet, his posture tentative. "When Kyle was taken, it fucked me up. I blamed myself. I told myself that he was dead and it was my fault. It was my job to protect him."

"But he came back," John finally says.

Derek gives him a hard look, but it's no longer filled with seething hatred and disgust. "Sarah Connor gave my brother back to me," he says quietly. "And that is the only reason that I'm not going to put a bullet in your head myself."

John swallows thickly. "She's my mother."

Derek shake his head. "When she says that you're not her son, I'll gladly kill you myself, but until then, I can't. Not after what she did for me and Kyle."

* * *

[end section]


	11. Circuits To Ground

**TITLE: Circuits To Ground**  
**SUMMARY**: Everyone has been holding back. Some of the secrets come to light.

* * *

Kyle watches as Derek walks into the commissary. The pre-JDay lunchroom for Serrano Point staff is one of the few rooms big enough to accommodate large groups of off-duty soldiers. The fact that there is also occasionally food in the commissary is mostly coincidence. The adjoining industrial kitchen was re-purposed into an infirmary years ago.

When Derek takes a seat opposite Kyle, Kyle pushes a half-eaten plate of dried sea vegetable toward him. Derek waves him off with a grimace, staring into the distance.

"You talk to him again?" Kyle asks.

Derek grunts in reply.

Kyle narrows his eyes at his elder brother, frustrated. "I don't get why you're taking this so personally. He's just a kid."

If looks could kill, the one Derek gives Kyle would be a mortal wound. "He was working with metal to kill humans."

"_A_ human," Kyle corrects sourly. "And one you'd gladly kill yourself. That's not why you're pissed."

Derek leans forward in his chair, elbows braced on the table, getting in Kyle's face as much as he can without launching himself at his younger brother. Across the table, Kyle suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, preparing himself for the inevitable tirade.

"Well, fine then, Kyle, oh great hero of Century work camp," Derek seethes, his words dripping with sarcasm, "why don't you enlighten me with your incredible fucking wisdom and tell me why I'm pissed at the kid."

Kyle doesn't respond, but Derek's already on the offensive. Around the commissary, the other soldiers are silent, watching while trying not to be obvious. The bulk of them are from Derek and Kyle's camp. The sight of the Reese Boys tearing into one another isn't out of the norm. And it's usually a good show. Two seats down from Kyle, Allison turns away and ignores them both.

"How many more fucking people do we have to lose before you understand that it's real, Kyle?" Derek demands. "No one is going to save us, not even your fucking Saint Sarah. We have to look out for each other. We have to watch our backs. And that includes making damn sure that everyone knows that working with the metal is not an option."

Kyle glares at his brother, pissed. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not waiting on anybody to save me," he says pointedly. That one gets Derek and he flinches.

"The kid fucked up, Derek," Kyle continues. "But he was trying to make things better and you know it. I can't believe you're willing to let him die because he made a mistake."

Derek growls at his brother, but doesn't reply.

Kyle sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why does John get to you so much?"

Derek shakes his head and pushes away from the table, stalking out of the commissary. Kyle considers letting him go, but he glances over at Allison who has obviously taken glaring lessons from Derek. Kyle gets the hint. He still isn't convinced that John is Sarah's son. In fact, he avoids considering that possibility as much as he can. But Kyle does like the kid. And Allison trusts John. Hell, Bedell does too. Mostly Kyle thinks Derek's being a dick and while that's nothing new, Kyle is frustrated that he can't figure out why it is John gets under Derek's skin so much.

With a frown, Kyle rises to his feet and heads after his brother. He shadows Derek down the debris littered corridors. Kyle is one hell of a tracker, the best in their camp. Probably the best at Serrano too. But the skills are wasted when following Derek. Tracking Derek is like following an elephant through a mudflat. Impossible to miss. Derek didn't used to be like that. In the years after JDay, Derek was good at keeping his head down. But after Kyle broke out of Century and regrouped with his brother, that change was one of the first things he noticed. They were all younger then. The war wasn't quite so desperate. They were still making good inroads against Skynet. Derek was fearless, reckless. He inspired the camp. But the more Kyle watched his brother, the more he realized it wasn't just bravado. Derek was daring the machines to find him. And sometimes Kyle was pretty sure Derek wanted them to find him.

In the months and years after he found Derek again, that recklessness was eventually curbed. Derek finds other ways to inspire the camp that don't involve needlessly taking risks. But he still doesn't cover his tracks for shit. Kyle walks down one long hallway and then another, up two flights of stairs. He finally winds his way to one of the external catwalks that overlooks the ocean.

Derek is careful to stay back out of range of potential sniper fire, but he stands there, staring out at the water. Kyle knows his brother well enough to know he just needs to wait. So he does.

It's more than five minutes later when Derek finally says, "Does John remind you of Michael?"

Kyle scuffs the toe of his boot against the catwalk's worn concrete. He takes a deep breath and steps closer to Derek, relatively sure that his brother is no longer in the mood to punch him. "I don't know. Maybe," he says evasively. The truth is, no. John doesn't remind Kyle of Michael, the eldest of the Reese brothers who died before Kyle was born.

Derek shakes his head like he's trying to banish memories. "Nevermind," he says. "You didn't even know Michael." He scrubs a hand over his face. "It's just that the kid always has this way of looking at me like I owe him something. Even from that very first day. He expected me to know him."

Kyle considers his brother's words. Derek and Michael were only a year apart and after Michael's death, Kyle knows his parents considered divorcing. Instead, they had him. Michael's death was likely the reason Kyle was born, so Kyle has always felt a connection to Michael. But that connection is nothing compared to Derek's memories of their brother. Kyle has no idea what it means for Derek to be drawing parallels between John and their dead brother, but it does shed some light on why Derek is being such a jackass about this. Quietly, Kyle says, "He's not Michael."

Derek rounds on his brother with a withering expression. "Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle. Of course he's not Michael. I'm not nuts."

Kyle shrugs and hold up his hands, at a complete loss for what to say to his brother.

Derek rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath before stalking away again, leaving Kyle standing on the catwalk.

* * *

Derek pushes past two sergeants and a corporal and barges through Bedell's door. Bedell merely glances up at him, turning his attention back to the schematics strewn across his desk. He makes Derek wait several minutes before he acknowledges him. "Need something, Reese?" he finally asks.

"Yeah," Derek snaps. "I need to know what the fuck is up with you and John."

Bedell walks around his desk and sits on the edge, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Derek with a bland expression.

"Why the hell are you going to these lengths to protect him?" Derek demands. Despite his earlier accusations, he doesn't actually believe that John is Bedell's bastard any more than he believes that John is Michael. But there's still something about this damn kid that seems to compel most of the people who know him to risk life and limb - and possibly the whole damn world - to save him. Derek feels that pull. But he doesn't like it. And he doesn't understand it. And that pisses him off.

Bedell stretches his foot out and kicks his office door shut before motioning for Derek to have a seat. Reluctantly, Derek sits in the battered folding chair. He knows it's not wise to take Bedell to task in the man's own office, but Derek's sick of being left out of the loop. He's sick of feeling like he's abandoning his own blood by letting John face the consequences of his actions. And he's really fucking sick of feeling like all of them are nothing but puppets in some dramatic piece of Taylor's devising.

"You know, Reese," Bedell says calmly, "the first time I saw you, I told John you were an intense guy."

Derek's brow furrows as he looks at Bedell.

Bedell smiles mirthlessly. "You know what he told me? He told me that you were a good guy. It's just that sometimes you were a lot to take."

Derek shakes his head. "What the fuck are you talking about, Bedell? I've known you for fifteen fucking years. John would have been a baby the first time you saw me."

Bedell just shrugs. "He didn't have any idea how to measure up to you. None of us did."

"Oh Jesus," Derek curses. "You've been in the moonshine again. Fuck, Bedell. We've got the goddamn tribunal today."

* * *

John winces against the light as he's ordered out of his cell. He has no idea what to expect, but he's surprised to see Kyle standing there with Brewster. The two soldiers who had been guarding John's cell keep a close eye on him as Brewster steps closer. She'll be part of the tribunal. That's what Derek said. John's only seen her a few times in the hallways around Serrano Point. She's one of Bedell's ranking officers and John's pretty sure she's a medic too.

His suspicions are confirmed as she opens her bag and removes a cotton swab. She holds it up to him expectantly. "Open your mouth."

John arches an eyebrow. He's pretty damn sure no one is making cotton swabs in 2027 and he's not about to put that in his mouth. "Why?"

Brewster frowns at him and John is stuck by her. Even dressed in the drab colors and ill fitting uniforms that are standard here, she's an incredibly beautiful woman. She also looks incredibly irritated. "Everyone gets cataloged."

He shakes his head. "No."

She steps closer and gently grips his jaw with her fingertips. John tries to ignore the way his stomach tightens when she touches him. With a forced smile she says, "Open up."

He shakes his head again.

With a sigh of irritation, she turns to step away. Then, just as John is relaxing, she lifts her foot and stomps it down as hard as she can on his instep. As he opens his mouth to yelp in pain, she jabs the swab in his mouth, nearly choking him.

John hops on one foot, swab tucked in his cheek and she smiles in satisfaction. Straightening up, John removes the swab and holds it out to her. Gingerly, she plucks it out of his grip. He watches as she slips the swab into a vial. "You could have asked nicely," he says pointedly.

She is intent on her task and not looking at him. "That was me asking nicely," she replies. She looks up at him. "Everyone gets cataloged."

"Why?" John asks again.

"Exile log," Kyle offers. At John's questioning glance, Kyle elaborates, "Appearances can change. People get disfigured in accidents. Brands can be burned off, torn off, removed. Same with any kind of implant. If the tribunal finds you guilty and sentences you to exile, the record of your DNA will go in a log that's circulated between a half dozen of the camps around here. If you try and join another camp, they'll scan you and if you're in that log, they won't let you in."

"Efficient," John says wryly.

"Some crimes are never forgiven," Brewster says, packing up her things. She gives John a hard look that isn't necessarily unkind. John doesn't know what to think. She's close to Bedell, but she's also honor bound to vote her own conscience on the tribunal. He probably should have tried harder to be charming.

John and Kyle both watch as Brewster leaves. Awkwardly, Kyle hands a change of clothes to John. "Savannah asked me to give these to you," he says. "You need to get cleaned up before the tribunal."

"This doesn't include a final supper, does it?" John asks warily.

"No," Kyle replies. "We'd never waste food like that." Kyle waits a beat and gives John a wry smile that does nothing to calm his nerves.

Turning, John heads for the showers. He's flanked by the two armed guards and Kyle.

* * *

"I'm not drunk, you pissant," Bedell curses.

"Really?" Derek snaps. "Because you fucking sound drunk. Or crazy. You and John talking about me more than a decade ago? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Bedell just shakes his head like he's humoring an intensely stupid child. "You get much intel on Skynet's Topanga Canyon facility in your neck of the woods, Reese?"

Derek shakes his head. This is a sore spot to be certain. "All I know is that metal's pouring about every resource it can find into it. Rodriguez said it looked like they were gathering up all the jet fuel and turbines that were salvageable on this coast. That means power. They need as much power as they can get and without Serrano Point, that means turbines and jet fuel."

Bedell nods. "Information is power, Reese. You should remember that."

* * *

John buttons up the new (to him) shirt, trying not to get too excited about how good it felt to take a sponge bath in lukewarm greywater. He doubts that they were being overly hospitable. They were probably just afraid to be in a confined space with him after he spent a week in that cell. He tosses his old clothes into a corner. Someone else can worry about them.

Dressed, he steps out of the shower stall and glances as Kyle. He's not at all clear on why Kyle feels the need to babysit him, but he appreciates the company. The shoulders of the two guards are clearly visible, one on either side of the bathroom door, waiting.

John stares at his father and figures that since this really might be the end, he might as well go for broke. Besides, he's not in a hurry to get to the tribunal. He steps closer to Kyle, meeting his gaze evenly. "You got that pocket watch from my mother, didn't you?" he asks point blank.

Kyle gives John a measured, guarded look, like he's been expecting this question. His hand instinctively goes to the pocket of his vest, resting there. "I got the watch from Sarah Connor," he says. "I don't know that she's your mother."

John frowns, his face set in hard lines. He crosses his arms over his chest, mildly surprised to realize that he and his father are almost exactly the same height. "You knew," he says firmly, though not angrily. "You and Derek both knew that my mother's name was Sarah and neither of you mentioned to me that she was alive or that you knew her."

"Most people know the name Sarah Connor," Kyle says evenly. "That doesn't mean she's your blood."

Okay. That pisses him off. There's something in the way Kyle talks about Sarah. Something almost possessive. Like Kyle is protecting Sarah's reputation from John. That burns. If anybody gets to protect John's mother, it's John. John and Sarah take care of each other. They don't need anybody else's help. Especially not if Kyle and Derek are both going to be pricks about it. "You knew," John grits out. "And you didn't say a damn thing."

Kyle presses his lips into a thin line, considering his words. "I was in Century work camp for six years with Sarah Connor and she never mentioned any family." He gives John a hard look. "Seems like something she'd mention."

John can't help that his lips curve into a hard, wry smile. Because, yeah, it does seem like something a person would mention. If that person was anybody other than Sarah Connor. How many times did she drill the importance of secrets into him? How many times did she forbid him to tell anybody about Kyle Reese?

John looks at Kyle. He doesn't want to fight with him about this, but he does want the watch. And more importantly, he wants to know why Sarah gave it to Kyle. Did Sarah know something about John Henry or Cameron? Had she found them? Had she figured out what the watch was for? Why did she need Kyle to keep it? Was there some strategic reason? Calm again, John asks, "What did she tell you when she gave you the watch?"

Kyle's expression is guarded, unreadable for several long moments. He narrows his gaze at John. As if against his own better judgment, Kyle says, "She told me it was the only thing she had left of the person who meant the world to her." He pauses a moment. "She told me she wanted me to have it."

John has no reply. He stares at Kyle, for several moments. She said Iwhat/I? That doesn't sound like Sarah Connor. That sounds like a Hallmark card. And if there's one thing John knows about his mother, it's that she does not, under any circumstances, sound like a Hallmark card. For a moment, John is struck by terror at the idea that this might be a different Sarah Connor. But no. No. It's not. How many other Sarah Connors are going to bust a bunch of people out of a Skynet work camp? And they certainly wouldn't have this watch. But this still doesn't make any sense. Why would Sarah say that to Kyle? The other Kyle, maybe, the one who was sent back in time to 1984. But this Kyle? This Kyle is barely older than John himself. There had to be a reason she did it.

Resigned to the fact that he's not going to get any more information - or his watch - out of Kyle, John turns and heads for the door.

* * *

"Don't condescend to me," Derek barks. "I know the value of good intel."

"Obviously not," Bedell says dryly. "The Topanga Canyon facility is the key to all of this. It's the key to the whole goddamn war."

Derek shakes his head in frustration. "We're barely managing to stay alive. How the hell do you think we can do anything about a Skynet encampment that heavily fortified?"

"Damned if I know," Bedell admits. "But we have to get in there. I've had some of my best operatives scouting it out for weeks."

The sound of a shotgun being cocked snaps both of them back to their surroundings. In tandem, they turn and stare down the barrel of the shotgun.

"Sarah," Bedell says warmly. "Good to see you."

"One of you better know where the hell my son is," Sarah bites out. Her aim doesn't waver.

* * *

  
[end section]


	12. Lost and Found

**Lost and Found**

* * *

"You should have made it known you lost your son," Derek snaps.

Sarah doesn't immediately reply, poking Derek between the shoulder blades with the barrel of the shotgun as she marches him and Bedell down the hall. "You should have told me you picked up a kid claiming to be my son." She punctuates the words with another jab.

Serrano Point guards try to intervene as soon as they see them, but Bedell orders them away. It could be the four heavily armed soldiers backing up Sarah that give Bedell pause, but Derek doubts it. The guards stand down so quickly that Derek wonders if Sarah Connor pushing people down corridors at gunpoint is commonplace. It's not a comforting thought. Bedell doesn't seem overly concerned that Sarah might kill them. Derek isn't so sure, especially if Sarah doesn't find the answer she needs. Bedell's banking on John being Sarah's son. If he's wrong, this could all go very badly.

"You have any idea what your kid looks like now?" Derek presses. Sarah doesn't answer. Derek stops, despite Sarah jamming the shotgun barrel into his spine. He turns to face her, glaring. "You don't know it's him."

Sarah's expression betrays nothing, but Derek knows there has to be desperation beneath the cast-iron bitch facade. Whether or not Sarah admits it herself, she needs this kid to be her son. She fucked up. She lost her kid. Derek knows how it feels to be willing to sacrifice anything to get back your blood. But it doesn't happen. No one comes home. Kyle was one in a million.

Derek looks over Sarah's crew. He recognizes two of them, Fields and Wallace. The other two he's never met, but they look seasoned. He wonders if they knew Sarah lost her kid. Not that it matters. Either way, they'll back her up. Sarah's got the tightest squad he's ever seen. If Sarah starts a war today, they'll follow her into Hell. Derek needs to stop that from happening.

"He's some orphan kid," Derek says firmly.

Sarah glares at him. "My son. _Now_."

* * *

John gives Kyle a sidelong glance as they walk down the hall. "You should have told me."

Kyle looks over, but doesn't reply. His chin is set defiantly.

John looks away, stewing. He doesn't know what Kyle thinks about the treason charge, but he's fairly sure Kyle doesn't want to see him die for it. He thought he and Kyle were friends, but right now the only thing he's sure of is that Kyle feels more loyalty toward Sarah than he feels toward John. John isn't sure why exactly that irritates him so much.

The guards direct them down a set of stairs. It's a challenge for John with his hands cuffed and legs shackled, but he manages to do it without falling. When he reaches the bottom, they point him through a doorway. As it turns out, the location for the tribunal is the old commissary. The space is pretty big. It'll probably hold three or four dozen people. It's about half-full right now. John figures that anybody who isn't on active duty probably came down for the show. Savannah and Allison are both standing against the wall. When they see him, they give him tight smiles that do little to hide their worry. His palms start sweating.

Brewster is already seated at a battered old folding table at the far end of the room. Taylor is also here, talking to a dark haired young woman who is probably Avila. As soon as Derek and Bedell arrive, that's the tribunal. John wonders where the hell they are. If Derek didn't show, that might actually be a boon to John, considering how pissed his uncle was the last time he saw him. But Bedell - John needs Bedell. Bedell is John's only hope at not ending up dead.

Savannah crosses the room to where John and Kyle stand. She leans in toward John, giving his arm a quick squeeze before she and says, "You need to sit in that chair up front."

John swallows thickly and nods. He takes a carefully measured step toward the chair, compensating for the shackles.

_"John?"_

The sound of her voice stops John in his tracks and he spins staring wide-eyed at Sarah. He can't move. He looks at her, standing in the corridor outside the commissary, forgotten shotgun loose in her hand, flanked by Derek, Bedell and four other people he doesn't know. She's older, but it's unmistakably her. Her hair is long again, dark, but now interwoven with gray. There's an inch-long scar across her left cheek, but otherwise, she looks remarkably unchanged.

"Mom," he says, but it comes out as a near whisper.

She moves before he does, charging through the doorway. Suddenly he can move too, but he does so too quickly and almost trips. Sarah rushes at him, shoring up his balance, wrapping her arms around his waist. He does his best to pull her to him with his hands cuffed, gripping handfuls of her shirt as he buries his face in her hair. Sarah clings to him, her fingers biting painfully into his back, but he doesn't mind. He's crying and he doesn't care. Jesus, how long has it been? Just three months for him? It feels like an eternity. He was so sure he lost her; that he abandoned her to die alone from some horrible sickness. But she's here now. She's alive. And he has never felt so relieved in his life.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that, but it's a long time. When Sarah finally pulls back, her cheeks are wet too. She looks at him for a long moment, reaching up and gently cupping his cheek, her eyes tracing his face in wonder.

"Touching." Taylor's mocking tone reverberates clearly.

In a heartbeat, Sarah's demeanor changes, her expression shuttering as she steps forward, putting herself between Taylor and John. She grips the shotgun tightly, her eyes quickly assessing the room. The four armed soldiers immediately close ranks on her, weapons at the ready. Sarah glances at Bedell for a moment, but turns back to glare at Taylor as she orders, "Get me the keys to these cuffs."

The room is absolutely quiet, every set of eyes riveted on the scene. Sarah has the shotgun in her hand. Everyone in the room, save John, is most certainly armed as well. This has the potential to become an explosive situation and in the crowded quarters, nobody wants that.

John notices the way people watch his mother. There's fear, tempered by an obvious respect. Everyone looks a little shellshocked, thrown by the scene between Sarah and John. John can't blame them.

"Sarah," Bedell says quietly, trying to appeal to her reason, "we have _rules_."

Sarah never takes her eyes off Taylor. "Nash." On cue, one of the soldiers, a guy probably in his early forties who is built like a tank, pulls something out of his vest pocket and tosses it to Bedell. John watches as Bedell catches it. It's a set of dogtags. Bedell reads it and his gaze immediately locks on Sarah. She doesn't look at Bedell, but it's like she can feel the weight of his stare. "The keys," she says again.

Bedell nods to one of John's armed escorts. The soldier lobs the set of keys to Sarah. She catches them in one hand.

"What the hell is going on here?" Taylor bellows, muscles in his neck straining as his gaze darts between Sarah and Bedell.

Sarah doesn't bother to reply, she motions John closer and he complies, holding out his wrists to his mother.

"That boy is going to stand trial for what he did," Taylor says darkly. John watches as Taylor reaches for a pistol.

Sarah immediately trains the shotgun on Taylor. The four soldiers accompanying her raise their weapons and aim for him as well. At Taylor's side, Avila and two boys in their early teens draw their own weapons.

Kyle immediately steps forward, standing next to Sarah, gun in hand. When Kyle moves, Derek does as well, automatically offering support. Taylor's followers swell around him, probably a half-dozen of them in total, all shockingly young, all armed.

Following Kyle and Derek's lead, the soldiers from their camp step forward. All of them have weapons drawn, though not all of them are pointed at Taylor. The threat is clear. And it's also clear that Taylor is woefully outnumbered.

"Bedell," Taylor yells, his anger and frustration clear. "Bedell, that boy was working with Skynet and you know it. He's a traitor."

Bedell merely shakes his head, making it clear he's not going to get involved and he's not going to order any of his soldiers to intervene. Taylor sputters in impotent rage, but there's nothing he can do.

Sarah turns away from Taylor dismissively, as if he no longer poses a threat. She quickly unlocks John's cuffs and then does the same with his shackles. Putting a hand on John's arm, Sarah ushers him toward the door.

"You can't do that," Taylor rages.

Sarah looks at him and then makes a show of looking around the room. "Who's gonna stop me?" she asks.

No one moves.

She gives Taylor a dark smile and turns, pushing John in front of her out the door.

* * *

Sarah stalks down the corridor, Kyle at her side, John trailing closely behind. Sarah's soldiers flank John, two on each side. Somewhere farther behind Bedell, Derek and several of the soldiers from Kyle and Derek's camp follow.

"_Connor_," Bedell yells.

Sarah takes a couple more steps and then slows and finally stops. She turns and faces Bedell, who looks absolutely livid. Bedell holds up the dogtags and Sarah's lips purse together. She looks at Nash and nods.

"He's in the control room for the desalinization equipment," Nash says unrepentantly to Bedell. "I didn't truss him too tight. He probably already got loose."

Bedell shakes his head in obvious disgust, glaring at Sarah. "You touch my son again and ..." He trails off, not finishing the threat, but his vision darts between John and Sarah. It's clear that after all he did for John, this is a particularly despicable turn of events. Sarah looks away without replying. Bedell mutters under his breath and heads the opposite way down the corridor at a jog. John wonders if Sarah just made a huge mistake. Serrano Point is the most important resource the human resistance has and Sarah jeopardized that relationship to free him. Dammit.

John glances at his mother and their eyes meet. For a moment, her expression softens. John steps closer, rubbing his wrists. "So, uh, back there," he says, pointing in the general direction of the commissary. "You can just ... _do that_?"

She shrugs. "Apparently," she says blandly. She purses her lips at him, her expression hardening. "I didn't have a lot of choice. I had to get you out of there before you incriminated yourself."

John is forced to look away from the weight of his mother's glare. He frowns sheepishly, retreating a step. "It was Cam."

Sarah crosses her arms over her chest, unimpressed with his explanation.

"Who's Cam?" Derek asks.

"None of your business," Sarah says without bothering to look at Derek.

Derek glares at Sarah. "I hope _Cam_ was worth pissing off both Taylor _and_ Bedell," he says darkly. "And giving a big 'fuck you' to the only justice system we have."

"_Derek_," Kyle growls, stepping closer to Sarah.

Almost instinctively, Sarah reaches out, touching Kyle lightly on the hand. When he looks at her, she shakes her head, signaling him not to bother fighting with Derek. Kyle frowns in resignation, but then smiles tightly as he moves his hand, gently grasping Sarah's fingers.

John stares dumbfounded at Sarah and Kyle.

Chatter screeches over the radio clipped to Nash's vest. The soldier tilts his head to the side listening. The words are muffled and mostly unintelligible, but it's clear that things aren't good.

John moves, grabbing Sarah's forearm and pulling her down the corridor. "We need to get out of here before Taylor comes up with anything else," John says.

Sarah nods, taking several steps with John and then turning to look at Kyle. "You sticking around here?"

"Wasn't planning on it," Kyle says. He looks to Derek for confirmation and Derek shakes his head in agreement. "We're out of here."

"We'll meet you at the rendezvous point," Sarah says.

Kyle nods.

Sarah gives him one last look and then continues down the corridor with John, the opposite direction from Kyle, Derek and the handful of soldiers from their camp.

"We can't leave," John says tightly, keeping pace with Sarah's strides. "I have to find Cameron's chip. It's here. Savannah has it."

"No way," Sarah snaps. "We're getting out of here now."

"Mom, I can't," John says.

Sarah stops, pulling John to a halt as she turns to face him. "I already lost you once," she says tightly, her voice so low the soldiers can't hear. "It took me eighteen years to find you. I am not losing you again. We're leaving. Now."

John opens his mouth to protest, but shuts it again. He nods. In this world turned upside down, this is completely familiar. And he actually misses the damn pancakes.

* * *

[end section]


End file.
